


Shire Treasures

by aquileaofthelonelymountain



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Suppressed Feelings, bagginshield, parentshield, post-botfa au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 01:30:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12158841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/pseuds/aquileaofthelonelymountain
Summary: Thorin’s heart missed a beat as the green door opened. There was a hobbit on its step, but not the one he had expected: It was a boy. The look of his blue eyes was earnest, and he stared at him from underneath a heap of dark curls.Then the boy spoke.“We don’t want any visitors right now.” With that, he closed the door right in front of Thorin’s nose.When a journey takes him from Erebor to the Blue Mountains, Thorin decides to visit Bilbo. What he doesn’t expect, though, is to become the babysitter for a hobbit boy who sees a lot more than Thorin is willing to admit to himself …





	Shire Treasures

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 22nd September, and happy birthday to Bilbo and Frodo!  
> Seems like a good opportunity to post a parentshield fic, don't you agree? It's my first one, and I hope you enjoy it ^-^

_I’m looking forward to your visit, my friend._

The whole Shire seemed to echo the last line of Bilbo’s letter. Warm sunshine, green hills, and whispering streams – it was difficult to imagine a more inviting countryside.

Its inhabitants, though, were a bit less welcoming. Most of them eyed the dwarf that walked through Hobbiton rather suspiciously, not knowing that the figure in the travel-worn clothes was nobody less than the King under the Mountain himself.

Thorin did his best to show them an appeasing smile, but he was afraid it looked rather strained. It wasn’t easy to make a friendly face while one’s feelings were in such turmoil.

 _Three years_ , he thought with a shudder. _What a long time since I’ve last seen him._ But the icy knot in his belly disappeared, and his heart began to flutter in his chest as he saw the great tree – an oak tree – on top of the hill. _Such a long time, and yet not long enough to make me forget, it seems._

Thorin found his way up the hill without troubles. The sight of Bag End sitting enthroned over the other dwellings made him wonder how he could have lost his way there twice. The memory of standing in front of the green round door for the first time brought a smile to his face. He knocked, three cautious bumps. Back then he would never have imagined to return, and with such a pleasant tingle in his belly at that!

Thorin frowned. It shouldn’t be like that. Bilbo and he were friends, yes. Although they had written each other letters, they hadn’t seen each other for three years. Paper didn’t blush, and things changed in such a long time … feelings changed. Both of them lived their own lives now, Thorin in Erebor, Bilbo in the Shire, and that was fine. They were where they belonged to, where they were needed.

Thorin’s heart still missed a beat as the door opened. There was a hobbit on its step, but not the one he had expected: It was a boy. It was difficult to tell his age – after all, what did a dwarf know about hobbit children? –, but he seemed very young. The look of his blue eyes was earnest, and he stared at him from underneath a heap of dark curls.

Then the boy spoke.

“We don’t want any visitors right now.” With that, he closed the door.

The dwarf blinked at the green wood. That … had to be a misunderstanding. His visit wasn’t unexpected. He had written to Bilbo that he would travel to their former home in the Ered Luin, and Thorin had asked cautiously if the hobbit would mind if he visited him on his way back to Erebor. Bilbo had agreed – readily, Thorin had noted with relief. Their shared past wasn’t easy, after all, and he had been afraid that Bilbo wouldn’t want to see him because a visit might bring up sad memories.

He knocked, but more resolute this time. The door opened again, and the boy gave him a sour look. He had to be related to Bilbo – well, closely related as all hobbits seemed to be connected to each other in some way. Thorin had seen the same expression on their burglar’s face often enough to know it.

“I come to visit”, he began, but the boy wasn’t impressed.

“No visitors, I’ve been told”, he repeated stubbornly. “The doctor says that uncle needs to rest.”

 _Doctor?_ Thorin’s heart froze. “What has happened? Is Bilbo alright?” He entered the smial despite the boy’s protest.

“Be quiet! Uncle sleeps.”

“What has happened?”, the dwarf asked again, now in a low voice. It took him some effort to stay calm, though. The thought of Bilbo being hurt was too painful, and his hands twitched with the need to hurry at his side, to help and comfort him.

“Accident”, the boy answered with a sniff before falling silent again. Thorin didn’t think that he would tell him more, and – if he was honest – he couldn’t blame him. After all, the dwarf was a stranger to him. He couldn’t know that he was Bilbo’s friend, and that the hobbit had expected him.

“My name is Thorin”, he introduced himself.

He thought to see a spark in the boy’s eyes. “Uncle has mentioned you.” He hesitated before taking a step forward and offering Thorin his hand. “My name is Frodo.”

So this was Bilbo’s nephew. The hobbit had told of him in his letters, but he hadn’t mentioned that he stayed with him at Bag End. If he had come to visit? Or was he here to take care of his injured uncle? The boy deemed him quite young for such a task.

Thorin carefully took the offered hand – it was so tiny compared to his! – and gently shook it. “It’s an honour to meet you, Frodo.”

“You travelled with uncle Bilbo, right?”

“Yes. And I’m very concerned about him. Is he alright? Can I see him?”

“He … was in pain”, Frodo finally said, and his lower lip trembled dangerously. The dwarf noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. “The doctor gave him some potion, and now he sleeps. The doctor says everything is alright, and that he will return as soon as he has picked up some more medicine. Uncle needs sleep, he says.”

Thorin fought the urge to grit his teeth. He was bursting with impatience, but Frodo looked as stubborn as any dwarf, and he knew that it wasn’t a good idea to simply ignore the little hobbit. He was clearly worried about his uncle and would probably protest – loudly – if Thorin tried to simply walk into Bilbo’s bedroom.

He took a deep breath. “The doctor will return soon, you say?” Frodo nodded. “May I stay with you until then? I won’t disturb your uncle’s rest, I promise.” As Frodo kept staring at him, he added: “I’m worried about him. Let me stay, please.”

The boy’s gaze wandered to Thorin’s backpack – he hadn’t taken it off yet – and stayed silent for long moments. “I don’t know where the guestroom is”, he finally said in a quiet voice.

Thorin showed him a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be alright. Bag End is really vast, isn’t it? The last time I stayed here I lost my way as well.” He lowered his voice. “Twice.”

Frodo’s mouth twitched, but he regained the control over his features remarkably quickly. “So it’s true? You travelled with uncle?”

“I did. But maybe we can sit down to talk?”, Thorin suggested. He noticed again how pale Frodo looked, so he added: “Are you hungry? We could go into the kitchen.”

The boy shot a glare at him, and the resemblance to Bilbo was obvious now. He looked as if he suspected Thorin to pillage the pantry, and if that place was as sacred as his uncle’s sleep.

“I’ve got some nuts and dried berries left”, Thorin appeased him. “Would you like to share them with me?”

Frodo only shrugged, but led on. Once he took a wrong turn, and the dwarf suspected that he hadn’t been often to Bag End yet. Once more it deemed him strange that such a young boy should be in charge of tending Bilbo.

When they had made themselves comfortable in the kitchen, Thorin shared a handful of his travel provisions with Frodo. The boy ate quietly, but without ever taking his eyes off him.

Eventually his curiosity conquered his shyness, and he asked: “You took uncle Bilbo on an adventure with you, right?”

“That’s true. Has your uncle told you about our quest?”

“Not much.” Frodo chewed thoughtfully. “He has given me a summary. He always says he will read the whole story to me as soon as he has finished his book. He doesn’t write very much, though.” He seemed to ponder if he should keep talking to Thorin, but after a moment he added: “I think it makes him sad.”

The berries blocked Thorin’s throat, and he quickly took a sip of water to cover his uneasiness. “I … am very sorry to hear that”, he commented lamely. Somehow he got the feeling that Frodo knew very well that he left many things unspoken. The blue eyes seemed to be too old for his young face.

“Are you and uncle Bilbo friends?”, he asked suddenly.

A memory rose in Thorin’s mind. Bilbo, barely enlightened by the dying fire. His deep eyes, full of fondness, but shimmering with tears. His soft lips grazing over Thorin’s in a kiss, parting to let out a choked sob. And a heart beneath his palm, beating as painfully fast as his own …

“Your uncle”, Thorin said eventually, “is very dear to me.” More memories threatened to choke him, and he coughed. The Maker help him, how dearly he wished to see Bilbo! _All in due time_ , he told himself. His nails dug into his palms nonetheless. He noticed that Frodo watched him, but the boy didn’t say anything. Instead he seemed to wait for him to continue.

Thorin was saved from explaining himself by a knock at the door. He got up and hurried to answer it, the little hobbit almost running to keep up with him.

The doctor’s face showed surprise as a dwarf opened the door, but his main concern was about his patient. He quickly collected himself, introduced himself as Mr Goodchild and listened to Thorin’s explanation who he was and why he was at Bag End.

“Nasty thing”, he muttered as Thorin brought up the subject of Bilbo’s injury. “Deep cut, and quite some blood. Nothing to worry, though. I gave him a strong tonic, and he should sleep for some more hours.” They reached the bedroom, and the elderly hobbit opened the door quietly.

The light in the room was dim. The curtains were closed, but the window was tilted and let in a breeze. It couldn’t hide the smell of blood, though.

Mr Goodchild went to the bed, but Thorin hesitated. He had longed to see Bilbo again, but he could have never imagined such circumstances. And while he felt the urge to rush to the hobbit’s side and make sure that he was alright, his fears let him stay where he was. What if Bilbo had changed? If he didn’t recognize the hobbit he knew anymore? Letters could deceive, and three years were a long time …

After a deep breath Thorin managed to take another step, and he knew that nothing had changed as soon as he saw his hobbit. Bilbo’s face peeked out from under the blanket. It was pale, but apart from that it was just as in Thorin’s memory. He remembered the soft features, the freckled nose, and those lips …

Thorin’s heart hammered, and he felt as if he had lost the solid ground beneath his feet. Nothing had changed. He still felt the deep yearning in his chest, and the sharp ache at the realization that it would never be fulfilled. He swallowed. Everything was back – no, not back, it had never been gone. All those long years he had told himself that he could consider Bilbo his friend, that he could banish his feelings. But time and distance hadn’t helped at all. Nothing had changed.

Thorin still loved Bilbo with all his heart.

He dimly noticed that the doctor looked at him, one hand on the blankets. Did he really wonder if it was appropriate to expose his patient in front of someone else? Obviously he did for he only lifted the blanket as Thorin nodded absent-mindedly.

Bilbo was clad in a wide sleepshirt, and Mr Goodchild lifted it just enough to reveal a bandage around the hobbit’s thigh, right above his knee. It was stained with blood.

“What happened to Bi– Mr Baggins?”, the dwarf asked while the doctor undid the bandage.

“Bad luck, actually. He slipped on one of the stones in the rivulet – you know, there are stones that rise out of the water. The children use them to hop across the river. There were some sharp rocks beneath the surface, and they caused this.” The elderly hobbit pointed to the now exposed cut in Bilbo’s flesh. Despite his assurance that Bilbo was alright it looked nasty, and Thorin felt a lump in his throat. “Bad luck, as I said. Many children stumble and don’t even get a bruise. But he fell unfortunately. River water and a deep cut isn’t a good combination either.”

Mr Goodchild began to clean the wound, but Bilbo didn’t stir. The tonic must have been strong, even stronger than the ones Óin used. “He fevered a bit last night, but everything should be alright now. Just make sure to clean the wound about every four hours, and change the bandage. Well, that is –” Mr Goodchild interrupted himself to eye Thorin. “I guess you’ll be staying with Mr Baggins? Good, good”, he mumbled as Thorin nodded. “You see, I have to look after other patients as well, and otherwise I’d have to ask one of the neighbours for help. It would be too much for the boy.”

“Frodo?” Thorin looked for the young hobbit, but he was nowhere to be seen. “So he isn’t your apprentice, I assume?”

“No, no. He is Mr Baggins’ nephew and lives with him now. His parents died only two months ago. Strange thing, you know – they were drownded.” Before Thorin could even wonder what that meant the elderly man continued. “The lad used to live in Buckland before Mr Baggins decided to take care of him and brought him to Bag End. The poor boy is terribly homesick – the whole village knows, and nobody is actually surprised that he tried to get back there last evening.”

“He ran away?” Thorin was so stunned that he forgot to lower his voice. He quickly glanced at Bilbo, but he still slumbered deeply.

“Well, yes.” The doctor wrung a cloth out, the water in the bowl beneath turned pink immediately. “He didn’t come back in the evening, so Mr Baggins went looking for him. He wouldn’t have tried to cross over those slippery stones if it hadn’t been to catch up with the boy.” He gave Thorin a look as if he must be deaf. “The whole of Hobbiton talks about it.”

The dwarf nodded dutifully. He listened carefully to the doctor’s instructions as well. Mr Goodchild knew his craft very well, and Thorin was grateful for his advice.

When he had closed Bag End’s green door behind the doctor and turned around, Frodo stood in the hallway. His gaze was fixed on the floor as he quietly asked: “Are you angry with me now?”

“Why should I?”

“Well”, Frodo mumbled, “uncle Bilbo is your friend, and it’s my fault that he got hurt.”

Thorin eyed the boy. He looked incredibly small as he stood there, arms crossed behind his back and avoiding to look up.

“It’s not your fault”, he said softly. He sank on one knee and put a hand on Frodo’s shoulder, the boy seemed to shrink under the touch. “Mr Goodchild said so as well. It was bad luck.” He gave him a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry, Frodo. I was also told you called for help as soon as you saw that your uncle was hurt. You’ve done everything right.”

Frodo’s eyes shimmered with tears, and he sniffed. “I just wanted to be home again. I … I miss it.”

“I understand”, Thorin answered soothingly. And indeed: He knew very well what it meant to miss one’s home. “Would you like to tell me a bit about it? Maybe it makes you feel better.”

Frodo nodded slightly, and Thorin led him into the parlour. The dwarf felt a bitter-sweet smile on his lips as he saw Bilbo’s famous armchair. Frodo wanted to climb into it, but he was almost too small, so Thorin simply grabbed him under the arms and sat him onto the chair. He got a cookie from a jar on the sideboard and handed it to Frodo. The little hobbit nibbled at it, and Thorin waited patiently until he was ready to speak.

To his surprise, Frodo didn’t tell of his home in Buckland. Instead he began: “I know that I shouldn’t have tried to run away. Uncle Bilbo is really nice, and he tells me stories and cooks my favourite foods … But”, he swallowed, “I think he isn’t happy that I’m with him now.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Uncle tries to be cheerful, but I know that he isn’t happy. He looks sad when he thinks that he’s alone, and … I think … I think I even heard him cry a few nights ago.”

Thorin didn’t know what to answer. There was this unhappy boy in front of him, wishing for comfort when he himself did the same.

Bilbo’s letters had always been so cheerful, and Thorin had thought that he was happy to have returned home. To learn that he wasn’t … The dwarf found himself desperately wishing that Bilbo was unhappy because of his visit. That he didn’t want to see him, but was too polite to decline. That he had felt better without the prospect of having him as his guest. Otherwise … otherwise it would mean that Bilbo had been unhappy all this time.

“I don’t think your uncle is unhappy because you stay with him”, Thorin began. It was true: Bilbo wasn’t somebody to make a promise just to regret it soon afterwards. He stayed to the word he had given … even if he had given it to a proud dwarf who didn’t deserve such loyalty. “Maybe there’s another reason why he is sad.”

Frodo wasn’t convinced. “Why doesn’t he tell me? We’re a family now, right? Uncle said so. And mommy and daddy said I can always tell them when I’m sad.”

“Sometimes people try to hide their sadness because they don’t want others to worry.” Thorin hesitated. “I don’t always tell my friends and my kin when I’m sad.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely true: Thorin had not had to tell them because it had been obvious how downcast he had been after Bilbo had left. He couldn’t remember how he had made it out of his bed in the first weeks after the hobbit’s departure. The pain had never left him. It had only shrunk to a small yet ever-present feeling in his chest. He had learned to ignore it, or at least to live with it. Sometimes, though, it grew in strength, and he knew the expression Frodo had seen in Bilbo’s eyes was the same he saw in the mirror then.

“I’m glad you are here to take care of your uncle. He would be lonely otherwise.”

Frodo studied him. “You seem to know uncle Bilbo very well”, he observed.

Thorin managed a little laugh. “We travelled far together, and I owe him very much. Your uncle has saved my life more often than I can count.”

“Really?” Frodo’s mouth fell open.

“You said he told you of his adventures.”

“Yes”, the boy pouted, “but he has never told me that part!”

“He is too modest.” The dwarf grinned. “Should I tell you a bit about your uncle? The story of how he saved me from a giant warg, maybe?”

“A warg!”, Frodo repeated with wide eyes.

“A white one at that”, Thorin continued. The young hobbit listened in awe as he told him of his uncle’s deeds. Many of them were still unknown to him, and Thorin couldn’t deny his amusement at his astonished cries. The dwarf spoke of Bilbo’s heroic stand against wargs and spiders, and of his clever plan to escape the dungeons of the Woodland Realm. The spots of sunlight on the parlour floor wandered on, and he interrupted his story before he came to hidden doors and live dragons.

“We should look after your uncle again”, he said. _And then we should put you into bed_. He didn’t say that aloud, though. Frodo looked tired, but Thorin wasn’t convinced that he would actually listen if he spoke to him like he had to his nephews when they had been little.

Bilbo was still asleep, but he stirred – without waking up, though – as Thorin began to remove the bandage around his thigh. He thought that the wound looked already better, and he carefully washed it once more.

Frodo helped him, he brought fresh water and placed a wet cloth on Bilbo’s forehead. He even showed Thorin a smile when the dwarf told him that this was a good idea. It wavered, however, as he touched his uncle’s face. “His skin is chill.” It sounded like a plea for help.

Thorin fastened the new bandage and pulled the blanket over Bilbo again before reaching for his cheek. Frodo was right, it was chill beneath his hand.

“Let’s close the window”, he said, and the little hobbit hurried to do so. In the meanwhile Thorin looked for another blanket that would warm Bilbo.

“Uncle has a big warm coat”, Frodo told him. “It’s on the highest shelf in the wardrobe.” He showed him the right one, and Thorin smiled as he saw all the colourful fancy clothes. It was hard to imagine that their owner had ever worn a waistcoat without any buttons.

Frodo pointed to a garment, and Thorin raised himself on tiptoes to grab it. The coat fell into his arms, and he froze immediately. The dark blue leather, the fur, and the obvious signs of use – this was _his_ coat. The one he had worn on the day he had entered Bag End for the first time and that had been taken from him in the Woodland Realm. The elves had returned the equipment and the weapons of the company after the Battle of the Five Armies, but Thorin’s coat had not been amongst them. He hadn’t put much thought to it, but that Bilbo had taken it with him on his return journey …

A lump built in Thorin’s throat. He shouldn’t have come here. Everything would have been easier if he had stayed at Erebor.

He stepped to the bed nonetheless and gently spread his coat over the sleeping hobbit. Suddenly Bilbo stirred, and the cloth fell of his forehead as he tossed his head.

“Hush”, Thorin whispered soothingly. “Don’t worry. Everything is alright. We’re taking care of you.”

His words helped, Bilbo went quiet. The dwarf reached for the wet cloth and placed it on his forehead again. His fingers brushed affectionately through the damp curls. “Sleep well, _givashel_.”

He waited for some moments to make sure Bilbo’s sleep wasn’t fitful. Only then did he leave the bedroom together with Frodo.

As they stood in the hallway, Frodo looked at him in a way that made Thorin’s ears turn pink. The boy couldn’t know what _givashel_ meant, that was impossible.

“Are you hungry?”, he asked, trying to sound light-hearted. “You’ve only eaten some berries and that cookie since my arrival. Your uncle will be angry with me when he wakes up and finds out I haven’t taken good care of you.”

Frodo nodded and showed him the way to the pantry. _A good sign_ , the dwarf thought with amusement. _When a hobbit leads you into his pantry, he begins to trust you._

The pantry was as well-stocked as Thorin had imagined, and he collected some bread, cheese, and cold meat pie. He also found a jug of milk and some fruits, and soon they had a little feast at the kitchen table.

But Thorin noticed that Frodo was restless, and it didn’t take long until the boy asked: “Mr Thorin?”

“Just Thorin.”

“Okay. Earlier, in uncle’s room … You called him by a strange name.”

Of course he had heard it. Curse upon hobbits and their sharp ears.

“I did”, Thorin admitted. “I … called him _givashel_.”

“What does that mean?”

Thorin hesitated. “It means ‘treasure of treasures’”.

“I see.” Frodo continued to nibble at some apple slices, and Thorin already began to hope that he wouldn’t ask further questions.

Of course he was wrong.

“Why don’t you stay with uncle when you love him?”

The question sounded casual, as if he had merely asked him if he enjoyed the weather. Thorin, however, was startled.

“How – Who has said anything of love?”

Frodo gave him a look that reminded him of Dís. “Treasures are important to dwarves. And you call him your treasure of treasures.”

“I”, Thorin began. His first impulse was to simply lie, or at least to play down his feelings. He had done so long enough for himself to believe that Bilbo was only a dear friend to him. But now, sitting here in Bag End, with the image of Bilbo’s sleeping face so fresh in his mind, he found that he couldn’t bring himself to deny his feelings anymore.

“I love him, yes”, he said. It was a relief to finally confess, but at the same time the truth of it was tearing his heart apart. “But we … we couldn’t stay together.”

“I don’t understand.” Frodo looked at him with furrowed brows.

“Nor do I”, Thorin answered with a deep sigh. “It is … complicated.”

He had spent long hours lying awake and wondering if there was a way for them to stay together. Back then he had not brought it over his heart to ask Bilbo to stay. He had known how dearly the hobbit had missed his home. And even if he had been willing to stay – and Thorin thought that Bilbo would have stayed despite his homesickness, if he had asked – he couldn’t have stayed for other reasons.

Three years ago, Erebor had been a kingdom in ruins. It had been winter, countless dwarves had fallen in the battle, and even if the remaining survived the snow and the cold nobody could tell if there would be a spring of hope. They needed better shelter, food … and a strong, experienced leader. Thorin had ruled in the Blue Mountains for decades, and many trusted his judgement, even despite his succumbing to dragon-sickness.

Whom they didn’t trust, however, was the hobbit at his side. Many of the dwarves that arrived at the Lonely Mountain had heard of Bilbo’s deeds, and that he was a renowned member of the company. But they had only heard tales and rumours, they had not witnessed it themselves. The years of exile had made them wary of strangers, and to most of them Bilbo was a stranger, no matter how desperately Thorin tried to convince them of the contrary.

Their suspicions didn’t get unnoticed by the hobbit, and he had approached the king and told him that he knew he couldn’t stay. That he would only cause problems if he stayed at Thorin’s side. Neither of them had uttered the word ‘consort’, and yet it had hung over their conversation like a shadow. Bilbo had looked at him so sorrowfully, and how shaky his voice had been … He had longed to embrace him, to comfort him and tell him that everything would be alright. But he had stood motionless, knowing that there were no words of comfort for both of them. He had restrained himself, kept his feelings to himself. Until that night –

He was torn from his memories as he felt a small hand on his. He looked up to see Frodo standing at his side, raised on tiptoes so he could reach Thorin’s hands.

“You’re here now”, the little hobbit said. “That means everything is alright now, isn’t it? You don’t have to be sad, you and uncle Bilbo.”

Thorin showed him a smile, and it was a heartfelt one. “If your uncle is a treasure, then you, Frodo Baggins, are a true gem.”

“How do you say ‘gem’ in your language?”

“ _Ibin_.”

“ _Ibin_ ”, Frodo repeated slowly. He sounded very pleased.

“But, you know”, Thorin added with a glance at the clock above the mantelpiece, “even gems need their sleep, and I think it is time for you to go to bed.”

“Sleeping gems!”, Frodo pouted. “That’s impossible.”

“It isn’t”, the dwarf persisted. “It’s just that you hobbits have not the slightest clue about ores, metals, and gems.”

“Will you tell me about them?”, Frodo asked, and the curiosity in his eyes reminded Thorin of his own nephews, and how they had always asked him to tell them stories about Erebor.

“Promised. That is, after you have brushed your teeth, changed for the night, and sit in your bed. It will be a bedtime story.”

Frodo nodded. “Promised!”, he repeated enthusiastically and quickly left the kitchen.

He was soon prepared for bed, and he fell asleep soon as well – dwarven musings about the nature of gems weren’t very thrilling for young hobbits, it seemed. Thorin carefully tucked him in, blew out the candle and left his room.

Suddenly he found himself alone in the quiet of Bag End, and he kept wandering around aimlessly. He wasn’t much surprised, however, as he stood in front of the door to Bilbo’s bedroom. He didn’t enter, though. It was easier to deal with his feelings as long as the door was between them. Otherwise he might get overwhelmed by his desire to curl himself up at Bilbo’s side, to hug and to kiss him, to whisper promises of love into his ear.

And would that be so wrong? Both of them had understood that they couldn’t stay together back then, and Thorin had learned to live with that knowledge. But accepted it? No, definitely not. There wasn’t a single day he didn’t think of Bilbo, and he often found himself lying in his bed – it was big, far too big for only one person – and wishing he could watch the hobbit being asleep next to him. He wasn’t able to forget that something – someone important was missing in his life.

Thorin’s hand was on the doorknob. But what, he suddenly thought, if Bilbo didn’t feel the same? If he had managed to accept, and to live on? After all, what did Thorin know about the hobbit’s feelings? Yes, he had picked up his coat, but the sadness Frodo had mentioned … He couldn’t know for sure if Bilbo felt the same sadness he did.

Somehow he hoped that this wasn’t the case. The thought of Bilbo suffering from the same longing he did, and that for three years, tore his heart apart.

He withdrew his hand from the knob.

 

***

 

The night passed without Thorin finding much sleep.

He had brought his belongings into one of the guestrooms – it was clean and tidy, as if Bilbo had already prepared it for him –, but he had only nodded off for a short while. Most of the time he had spent walking silently through Bag End. He had occasionally checked on Frodo, and he had dared to enter Bilbo’s bedroom as well. Both hobbits had slept soundly, and there hadn’t been much for him to do.

He had also been too restless to sit in one of the armchairs and read a book. His thoughts kept wandering to Bilbo, and he imagined him sitting in his chair, or preparing second breakfast in his kitchen, or writing in his study – living his life.

When the first light of morning peered in through the round windows, his restless feet carried him once more to Bilbo’s door. He opened it, just enough to peek through, but he entered the room at the sight he was offered.

Bilbo sat upright in his bed, Thorin’s coat around his shoulders. He was pale, and shadows were under his eyes, but he smiled weakly as his gaze fell on Thorin.

“So I wasn’t dreaming”, he said, his voice raspy.

“Good morning, Bilbo.” Thorin felt strangely useless. He stood in the room as if frozen, not knowing what to do or to say. It took him painfully long moments to finally ask: “How do you feel?”

“Tired.” Bilbo’s nose twitched. “And thirsty.”

Glad to have something to do, Thorin stepped to the bedside table where a jar of water stood. He poured a glass and handed it to the hobbit.

Bilbo took several sips. “My apologies”, he said eventually. “I’m a terrible host.” He moved his hand over his face. “And a terrible uncle at that. Have you heard of my nephew? Frodo? Has one of the neighbours taken care of him?”

“Frodo’s alright”, Thorin appeased him. “He’s in his room, and he sleeps soundly.”

“You took care of him?” Bilbo watched him. “That’s very kind of you, Thorin.”

The dwarf felt his cheeks turning hot. “You’ll probably curse me soon”, he mumbled. “He quite enjoyed my bedtime stories … and I guess you’ll have to explain why you haven’t told him of your heroic deeds.”

The silence lengthened again until Thorin coughed. “Your injury. I should take a look at it. That is, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t”, Bilbo replied hastily. “But, ahem, shouldn’t we wait for the doctor?” His hands gripped the blanket as if to pull it over himself any moment, and some colour stood on his cheeks now.

“He told me everything I need to know, and I’ve already changed the bandages while you were asleep.”

“Oh, I … I see.” The hobbit hesitated for a moment before finally nodding. He leaned back into the pillows and let Thorin lift the blanket. He shivered at being exposed, and he kept his legs so close together that the dwarf had troubles to undo the bandage.

Thorin’s cheeks burned when he asked: “Could you open your legs a bit further, please?” He tried not to stare as the hobbit did so wordlessly, and his eyes were fixed on the fabric of the bandage. He loosened it with cautious movements.

When he got up to get a piece of cloth and some water to clean the wound, his gaze fell on Bilbo’s face. He had closed his eyes and bit his lips.

“Does it hurt much?”, Thorin asked as he knelt down again and brushed the cloth against Bilbo’s skin as gently as he could.

The hobbit jerked a little at the cold. “N-no”, he mumbled. He stayed tense, however, and when Thorin’s finger tips brushed over his skin to apply some balm on it he made a stifled noise that had Thorin draw back his hands at once.

“I’m sorry”, he mumbled. I guess dwarf hands aren’t tender enough for such a task. Maybe we should call for the doctor indeed and –”

“It’s … not your fault. You aren’t hurting me. It’s just … it’s …”, Bilbo stammered, “embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Thorin looked up, and his eyes were involuntary drawn from the wound just above Bilbo’s knee and further upward. “What do you mean by embarra– Oh.” He blushed and quickly lowered his gaze again. With a flushed face he concentrated on applying the bandage.

“I mean”, Bilbo explained sourly, “that my head still feels as if it’s stuffed with cotton from all the tonics I got, and yet my body reacts to your touch like this.” He huffed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve seen you under more intimate circumstances.”

Thorin regretted the words as soon as he had uttered them. It felt like tearing open a scar, one that was deeper than the one in his side that still reminded him of Ravenhill.

“I remember.” Bilbo’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but Thorin could tell that he felt the same pain. Still kneeling on the side of the bed, he didn’t dare to look up into Bilbo’s eyes. If they would remind him of that night? The last night Bilbo had been in Erebor?

The whole company had spent the evening together to relish the presence of their friend one more time. But one by one they had disappeared, and eventually the burglar and the king had been left alone in the room. They had not spoken much that evening, both of them afraid that a single word might show how unhappy they were. None of them had been willing to leave either, however.

When the fire had almost died down Thorin had finally gotten up. He had approached Bilbo’s chair, still fighting to find the right words.

“Thank you”, he had finally managed to say. “For all you have done for Erebor.” He had sunk on his knees and had bowed his head. “For all you have done for me. If you should ever need help, don’t hesitate to ask. We will do whatever we can for you. I –”

He had interrupted himself as slender fingers had cupped his face, and a gentle kiss had been grazed on his forehead. He had grasped one of Bilbo’s hands to press a kiss on its knuckles, and their hands had been intertwined on their way to Thorin’s chambers.

Thorin remembered the night in all its details. Bilbo sitting on his lap, his skin soft and warm on his own. Ragged breath on his heated face. Fingers combing through his hair, digging into it. Bilbo’s forehead pressing against his, slightly bumping against it with the movements of their bodies. Lips on his, hoarsely whispering his name. Then … tears on this beloved face, hot tears, mingling with his own. They hadn’t spoken much, but Thorin still remembered how tight his embrace had been, how he had dreaded the moment of letting Bilbo go.

He felt the same tears prickle in his eyes right now. “I missed you”, he whispered as he reached for Bilbo’s hand. “I thought … that I could do this. Visit you as a friend. Be your friend. But I knew that I couldn’t as soon as I stood in front of your door. And when I saw your face again … Nothing has changed. Not my feelings for you … I love you.”

He hadn’t said those words back then. It would have broken his heart to tell Bilbo, and to bid him farewell only hours later.

“And I love you”, Bilbo answered. “But I … I still cannot follow you. I’ve become a stranger to Erebor, even more than I was back then. And Frodo – I cannot leave him. I …” He broke off with a choke.

Quietly Thorin got up to sit next to him, enfolded him in his arms. He felt a lump in his throat, and it took him long moments before he could speak again. “And if I stayed with you?”

Bilbo shook his head. “We have talked about this enough, haven’t we? You cannot leave. Erebor needs you.”

“I don’t think … that’s true. Not anymore.” Thorin chose his words carefully. “Erebor needed me when we had nothing. When we had to struggle for every new day. It wouldn’t have been fair to leave Fíli with such a burden, or Dís. But now Erebor prospers. Many dwarves have returned to the mountain, and we’ve found allies in the people of Dale and Lake-Town, even in the elves. My people have a home again. They don’t need me any longer.”

“Stop it”, Bilbo interrupted him harshly. “Don’t try to console me. I do not want you to leave Erebor – and your kin at that – for me!”

“I’m not leaving anything for you. I’m just … being selfish.” He smiled at the huff Bilbo made. “I’m proud of what we’ve achieved, and I’m happy for my people … But I’m not happy. But I want to be. I want to be selfish and finally do what makes me happy.”

“Oh Thorin, I … I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Would you rather want the both of us to be unhappy?” Thorin placed a hand on Bilbo’s cheek and gently turned it until the hobbit looked at him. “And if things had been different back then, and I had asked you to stay? Would you have thought of staying with me as giving everything else up? Your home, your friends and family?”

His heart fluttered in his chest as Bilbo grinned all of a sudden. “That’s hardly fair”, he said softly. “You compare being a king with living next door to the Sackville-Bagginses.”

“I missed your smile”, Thorin whispered.

Bilbo wrapped his hands around his neck, his fingers played with Thorin’s tresses. “I will show it to you, I promise. Every day.”

The dwarf stared at him, hardly able to grasp a single word. “So you … you would have me?”

“Of course”, Bilbo answered and kissed him. His touch was soft, a mere graze, as if he wasn’t sure if they could really start again where they had left three years ago. Thorin answered the caress tenderly, but at the same time he pulled the hobbit closer to show him that his feelings hadn’t changed, that his love had even grown despite their separation. Feeling Bilbo in his arms set something in his heart ablaze, something that he had thought had died down. But it had only slumbered, and here, far away from his kingdom, Thorin finally felt whole again.

He felt tears of joy burning in the corner of his eyes, and he wasn’t surprised to notice the glassy look on Bilbo’s face when they drew apart. He placed a kiss on the corner of Bilbo’s eye.

“I love you, Thorin.” He felt Bilbo’s fingers at the back of his head, drawing the dwarf closer again. Their noses brushed against each other, and both of them giggled at the sensation.

“And I love you.” Thorin kissed the tip of Bilbo’s nose. Then he let his lips wander deeper until they brushed the hobbit’s again.

They exchanged kisses until they were interrupted by a shy knock on the door. It opened, and a little hobbit peeped into the room.

“Uncle Bilbo?”

“Frodo! It’s alright, my dear, come in.”

The boy did so, but he stopped after a few steps. Bilbo stretched an arm out invitingly – the other was still wrapped around Thorin’s neck – and waved him to come closer. Thorin helped the young hobbit to climb onto the bed.

“My dear Frodo”, Bilbo said softly, “I’m so sorry for making you worry like this.” He hesitated, and Thorin felt how he tensed. “I’m afraid I have to apologize for something else. I’ve been a horrible uncle to you. I brought you to Bag End and promised to take care of you, but I’ve been moody and gloomy …” He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I promise you to make up for that.”

“It’s okay. Thorin told me that you weren’t sad because of me.”

Bilbo gave him a look that made the dwarf’s heart flutter. “Has he?”, he asked almost teasingly, but with a sweet smile. “He’s right. I’m happy to have you here with me. I’m very happy.”

Frodo studied them wordlessly for a while, and Thorin got the impression that his eyes didn’t miss a detail: the way Bilbo leaned his head against Thorin’s chest, the soft grasp of hobbit hands on the dwarf’s broad neck, the soothing rubbing of Thorin’s hands on Bilbo’s back.

Eventually he asked: “And when Thorin’s stay is over? When he leaves? Then you’ll be sad again.”

“I won’t”, Bilbo promised. “Because Thorin will only be away for a short while before he returns to us.” His voice was warm with affection. “He wants to live with us.”

Frodo frowned, and for a painfully long moment Thorin was afraid he would object to a dwarf – a stranger to him – moving into the Shire, to Bag End at that.

But then the boy asked: “Can’t we go with him?”

“What?”, Bilbo and Thorin asked at the same time.

“Can’t we join him, and come back together? I want to see Erebor! I want to see the sleeping gems!”

Bilbo gave Thorin a puzzled look, but a broad smile was showing on his face. “It’s a long way, though”, he remarked.

“But not dangerous anymore. And with ponies, or even a small cart …”, Thorin mused. “What do you say, _givashel_? Shall we go on another adventure?”

“I feel quite ready for one.”

With a cry of excitement, Frodo threw himself forward into their arms. “An adventure!”, he laughed. Bilbo joined in, and Thorin gave him a kiss on the forehead.

Travelling to Erebor together, and coming home into the Shire together … He smiled as Frodo already began to plan their journey and wondered if he would need boots in the mountains.

“Not so hasty”, Thorin laughed. “I’ve barely arrived, and your uncle won’t go to Erebor right now, not with his injury. We have to take good care of him now.” Thorin winked at Frodo. “Why don’t we start with preparing breakfast for him?”

Bilbo protested with a squeak as Thorin pulled him into his arms to carry him into the kitchen.

“I’m still not sure if it’s a good idea to take Frodo to Erebor”, he muttered. “Dwalin will give him way too many cookies, Nori will teach him swears, and Fíli and Kíli … I don’t dare to imagine what mischief they’ll be up to, future king and crown prince or not!”

“You should rather worry about my influence on Frodo”, Thorin teased as he carried him through the corridors of Bag End. “You know that I will spoil the little gem.”

“I know.” Bilbo rested his head in the crook of Thorin’s neck. “I only hope I won’t get jealous.”

Thorin smiled as he let him down on the kitchen chair. Sunbeams fell into the room, and Frodo was already carrying his uncle’s favourite tea cup to the table.

Thorin gave Bilbo a peck on the cheek. “Trust me, _givashel_ : I won’t give you a reason.”


End file.
